


Reader insert

by pyropinkfish



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: F/M, Glossed over sex, Reader fic - Freeform, whoops sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:43:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2217936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyropinkfish/pseuds/pyropinkfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone asked me to write this like two weeks ago, I just sadly been hella busy with college, and I kept putting it off because I have no clue how to write: straight smut, reader inserts, present tense and second person??? Anyway, I didn't beta, and I only wrote it as an experimental piece to writing second person, present tense. If its messed up, sorry. I tried. </p><p>Plot: Reader gets reassigned, Michael explains Reader's new post.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reader insert

**Author's Note:**

> Idk I kinda reread it for typos, but eh. Anyway, I'm working on a Michael/Uriel, another Malex piece and I think something else, but I'm open to DRABBLE requests. Nothing more plotty than that. I'm so busy, and its stressful not having posted anything in a while. D: 
> 
> I'm not gonna lie, I glossed over the actual dirty part because I'm just a simple male slash writer, idfk how to write f/m smut. Or f/f either, I'm a pretty bad lesbian.

Walking up the long stairs to the top of the Stratosphere makes you curse the fact Flint transferred you. What was wrong with you staying guard on Frost's home? Oh right— he drowned. 

You grit your teeth, already out of breath by the time you finally make it. The fucking angel couldn't meet you downstairs in the main lobby where all other Archangel Corp assignment related business took place. No, you had orders to go up to the top specifically so he could personally direct you to your new post. If it was back downstairs, you swear to God, you would end him. Somehow. Sorta. 

Really, you're just tired. Sleeping is hard, there are so many things going on around you and random nightmares plaguing your subconscious when you can sleep. How are you supposed to work under these conditions? 

By the time you finally make it up the top of the staircase (that felt endless), you do a very mature air jump; victory was yours. You accomplished that impossible trek. You deserve a cold bottle of wa—there was the angel, head tilted and eyebrow quirking at your display of energy. Instantly, you try to explain yourself, mouth open while you point your finger up to pause him as you blurt on about the stairs being more than you're used to. A wrong thing to say; you were AAC, why weren't you fit? 

You could see that question in his eyes, the way his lips turned into a slight sneer. How his eyes turned sharp, and suddenly you wish you were just a regular soldier again. A Tan. Wall duty sounds awesome right about now. "There is an elevator." He finally breaks that pointed look and you can feel your stomach and expression drop much to his amusement. 

"An elevator?" Why didn't you think of taking the elevator? God, you hate yourself. Out of self-loathing, you lean against the wall, taking a steady deep breath. A fucking elevator. You didn't even see it, but of course it would make sense there was one with how tall the building was. No sane human wants to walk twenty something flights of stairs. 

"Yes. You are aware of what one is, aren't you?" You're pretty startled by his sass, and your eyes widen to show that shock. He only quirks his lips, smirking at your distress. What a dick. Regardless, you instantly jump back into defending yourself, high on the defensive side after the long day you had. A day which really was just beginning. 

Talking must have been boring him; mid-sentence in your excuses he turns on his heel and makes it obvious he expects you to shut up and follow him. Which you do, while walking into his bedroom. Holy shit, the bed was huge. You never seen something so soft and inviting. Your gaze wonders a little too much, imaginations of laying on it spread eagle after a hard day (which you would happily argue is everyday) while getting a back massage swarm in your mind. You would bet money someone is paid to massage Michael's back. Hell, looking at your superior, you would do it for free— the look he gave you makes you wonder if angels can read minds. 

"So, Archangel sir, what exactly are my orders here?" You finally get back on the topic at hand. Staring longingly at his bed isn't going to get you paid. 

"What do you want them to be?" He speaks so calm, so straight forward, leaving you once again to be stunned by his answer. His smirk never went away either, and fuck, fuck he was standing close. You can feel his body heat through your layers upon layers of uniform. 

"Huh?" So maybe you aren't the most articulate, but in all fairness when an attractive man— no, your boss, is eying you like candy, you tend to lose all verbal and mental capabilities. You aren't unattractive, you know that, but you also know the rumors with the angel. He was a whore. Everyone knew it even if it was always hush-hush with no proof and discreditable eyewitnesses. No one wanted to rat anyone out to any higher ups— relationships with angels meant death. Did that law even count with Michael? 

You furrow your eyebrows at him. Especially when your not so wordy reply has him making this airy sort of noise that you were sure counts as a chuckle. You can't be one hundred percent on this though, Michael is a very hard to read man, and you consider yourself a pro at reading people. But he isn't a person, and you have to remind yourself that. You have to ignore how human he looks, how human he feels when he brushes his hand over your neck, pushing back the locks of hair so they lay on your back and not your shoulder. How human his lips feel the minute they are pressed against the freshly exposed skin. 

The squeak you made was justifiable, you will argue that to the day you die. If he even notices it, he shows no signs. In fact, he is a little busy murmuring into your neck about having the rest of the day off— if you want it that is. God, you never wanted anything more than it. To go back to your quarters and take your boots off— that is not the intention here. You're realizing this the second he is nibbling on the soft spot where your jaw connects. You feel like putty in his hands. 

"Are these my new orders?" Your voice cracks with a moan when he sinks his teeth down. It's been way too long since you had any fun. Being a soldier prevented you from getting any, or it was supposed to. You know and can hear the other soldiers having glorious sex lives. Maybe indulging a little for once with a superior wouldn't be so bad. After all, you can't get fired if you're sleeping with the highest of the corp. At least you hope so.

"You are free to leave at will, with no consequences to yourself." He informs after pulling his mouth away and he spoke by nuzzling into the forming bruise. How could you even want to leave though is what you wonder. So you lean onto him, eyes closing and a faint smile appears on your face. The fact he confirmed to respect whether or not you consent and with no strings attached should you decide against gave you all the more reason to give in. 

"I really think I should stay here." You decide, which is enough for him to start working off the velcro of your vest. A tedious task in which you're more than excited to help with. You have expertise in removing the damn thing. He's awfully grateful for it once you're completely naked from the waist up. You don't even have time to feel self conscious— not that you can when someone as damn attractive as the Archangel himself finds you appealing enough to be pushing you on his bed. You were right about it being like laying on a cloud in Heaven.

You sink into it, laying your arms above your head while you crane your neck up to grin at your boss. He's tugging off your boots for you. The fact this is actually happening, and not some silly wet dream is mind boggling for you. But you aren't any least bit excited when he's got them both to the floor. The thump of the hard rubber making contact with the carpet is proof of that. 

Boots be damn, you're finding yourself mentally preoccupied with a lot more than footwear. Like how Michael is pulling his own shirt over his head and tossing it on the floor next to your shoes. His chest is something you just have to reach out and run your fingers over. He catches your hand and brings it up to his lips. You can feel the smile against your skin and it makes you giggle. Not a girly, pathetic giggle, but one because the chap of his bottom lip tickles the back of your hand. 

Once he feels satisfied with kissing your hand, he pushes you back down with his free hand, then the hand he was using to hold your hand is now tracing your abdomen. His fingers creep walk down to the uniform trousers that don't fit you right. They aren't the least bit sexy, but he looks very enticed, eyes blown with lust while he moves both hands to your hips. Its only a few seconds and your pants are gone faster than it takes you to wish you had sexier underwear on. Issued white cotton panties weren't the best for sexy times, and he doesn't even try to get rid of them for you. No, no he's got something else in mind. 

The shock writes itself on your face when his pinkie traces over the dip between your legs. His nail is scratching the cloth, quickly arousing you. The little faces you make encourage him. Soon a pinkie turns to all his fingers rubbing you hard. You're grabbing the blankets, gasping and your toes are curling by the time he finally creeps his fingers under the soaked fabric. With a wet sloshy noise, his fingers probe and slip inside the soft folds of your body. He looks so damn amused, such expressions you know you would never have seen if it wasn't for the fact you had a pretty face and he was hypersexual. 

He looks even more beautiful when he's smiling. Even if it's at your expense. 

He looks even better when he pulls out of you and rolls to lay on his back, his come coating your inner thighs while you turn to cuddle into his side. The brunet wraps his arm around your shoulders, letting you know you aren't just going to be kicked out. Though you are given a good five minutes to recover, catch your breath from the best orgasm of your life before he speaks. "I expect you to report to your post tomorrow, same time. With the use of the elevator." The words are so amusing to you that you laugh, realizing how much you enjoyed walking those unnecessary stairs because it lead you to this.


End file.
